


you, you're such a big star to me

by Waistcoat35



Series: they slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered [22]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:21:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27937087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waistcoat35/pseuds/Waistcoat35
Summary: 23 - 'I'll wait.'An outside perspective on Mr Barrow and Mr Ellis.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow & Daisy Mason, Thomas Barrow & George Crawley, Thomas Barrow & Phyllis Baxter, Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Series: they slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772770
Comments: 18
Kudos: 92





	you, you're such a big star to me

**Author's Note:**

> TWs: Potential underage drinking (I was vague with the ages of the two characters but I imagine they were almost or early adults in the first instance and over 18 in the second one.) Reference to canon s6 suicide attempt through mention of an anniversary. One character comes out and is worried about the reaction. Intense debates about marmalade on toast.

Ada's only been working at the house for a month or so, the first time the man visits. She is instantly wrong-footed in that she doesn't know who he is, and based on the way he is waiting at the back door as though he's already done so a hundred times, hands in his pockets and one ankle crossed over the other, she has a feeling she ought to. People in these big houses seem to get quite offended if she doesn't know who they are by instinct alone - even the grocer, last week, when she didn't realise he was the man meant to be dropping off their order. 

'Leave them to their sniping,' Mr Barrow had said. 'They're all far too bloody self-important anyway - you'll be taking them down a peg or two. Especially the grocer - ever since the royal visit, Mr Bakewell's thought himself a local celebrity.' She finds it funny, but whenever Mr Barrow mentions the royal visit, his voice is disdainful but his eyes go all wistful and fond. He looks and sounds like that with a lot of things - like he says it one way but feels another. He's a bit of an odd duck, but she rather likes him for it. 

Now she gives this new person a closer look. His coat and hat look relatively expensive, but worn-in - the worth of them fits him, compared to half these big-household valets who parade around in their employers' cast-offs and end up looking like a six year old trying on their father's three piece suit, like gaudy peacocks that aren't quite comfortable with themselves. But the coat is appreciated for its value, carefully mended in one or two places with neat stitching. The hat is at a slightly jaunty angle. (Mrs Patmore has had much to say about young men who set their hats at jaunty angles, but she hasn't heard much of it because Daisy either cuts off her ranting or finds something to teach Ada how to do in the servants' hall so they can get away from the kitchen for a bit.)

'Good morning - afternoon - morning,' she says, because last time she checked the time it was half past eleven and she's not sure if it's quite twelve yet. It doesn't seem to matter much, luckily, because from the way the man is almost leaning into himself where he stands he doesn't seem like the type to be terribly bothered about time or lateness. He inclines his head with a smile that is reassuring but not deceiving, and something about it makes her feel like she's talking to an old friend rather than a stranger. 

'And the same to you, Miss,' he says, and she has a feeling that he does in fact know whether it is morning or noon but doesn't wish to embarrass her. Maybe he won't mind that she doesn't know who he is after all. 

'Can I help you?' she tries, because although it's a slower day if she's gone too long she'll have Mrs Patmore or someone looking for her and accusing her of being a layabout. He seems to remember himself then, and straightens up a bit - the smile widens, white, professional, and although it is a brighter one now she can't help but think that his face looks more like a sunny window once the curtains have been closed over it again. Having caused him to put a front up and feeling quite sorry for it, she prompts him. 'Is there anyone I can find for you, or...?' 

'Oh - uh, yes. Please. I was wondering if I might be able to ask Mr Barrow about something?' The tone of his voice is further endearing - he sounds as though he may actually be asking her, rather than speaking in that way where someone's pretending to ask her something when really they're telling her.

'I'm afraid he's not available right now, would you like me to take him a message?' He seems to bite his lip and consider it for a moment, before shaking his head. 

'That's alright, thanks, it's something a bit - sensitive. Is there any way I could wait for him, without making myself too much of a nuisance?' Ada thinks about it for a moment. She isn't sure where to put him - if he's not anyone important she'll get told off for letting him wait in one of the sitting rooms or offices, but if he is important - as it sounds like his message might be - then she'll get her ear chewed off for letting him wait in the servant's hall or, God forbid, the back step. 

In the end, she decides that the telling-off from the latter would be worse - especially if Mr Carson gets wind of it and finds out that someone important was made to wait outside for half an hour before seeing the butler. 'Come inside, if you like,' she says. 'I'll find somewhere for you to wait.' She's sure it must look a sight, this tall man in an expensive-looking coat following a diminutive housemaid like a lost duckling, but there's nobody around to see, so she just tries not to laugh to herself at the thought. After some dithering, she taps on the door to Mr Barrow's office - just in case - and then swings it open. 

'I'm sure you'd be welcome to wait in there,' she says. 'I'll fix you some tea.' She hurries to the kitchen to do just that, and notices that now he's lurking in the doorframe instead. At first she wonders if he just wants to make a nuisance of himself, but she sees the awkward posture, the fidgeting that wasn't there before, and realises he's as uncertain in this as her - likely used to coming into the house and being greeted by people he knows, and now stuck with her while they both make awkward conversation.

'I'd hate to be any trouble,' he says. 'You'll be busy at this time of day, I'm sure, don't worry about it.' 

In all fairness she probably does have something she could be getting on with, but it seems the wrong time to just leave him waiting down here with nobody knowing he's arrived, and if she's staying here she needs something to do, so she carries on filling the kettle. 'It's fine,' she says. 'How d'you take it?' She almost winces a bit at the mistake - before starting at any big house she's been drilled about speaking properly, after all. But she notices, funnily enough, that he sounds different after that - as he keeps talking more of his natural accent bleeds through. He's from Yorkshire, definitely.

He resigns himself to being offered something and obliges. 'Decent splash of milk, not much sugar, please,' he says, so she settles for half a teaspoon of sugar. She notes, absently, that he takes it inverse to how Mr Barrow does - practically black, but never less than two sugars. 

'He might be a bit,' she says, after adding the milk. 'He's serving upstairs luncheon.' 

'I'll wait,' he says as she sets the tea down in front if him, and it's with something more like devotion than determination. It reminds her, somehow, of the way her grandfather's massive dog lies and waits on the flagstones by the back door when he's out doing the gardening.

It would seem she has taken the right course of action after all, because when Daisy comes back in from wherever she'd vanished to she seems overjoyed to see him. 'Mr Ellis!' She exclaims, face lighting up, and Ada gets the sense that if she weren't there Daisy would throw her arms around him. It would seem he is an old friend after all, to more than one person. He is kept busy telling Daisy what he's been up to for a good while, mostly about seeing his parents and something to do with London - he mentions 'the household' a few times, and so presumably he works in service same as them, but he doesn't seem keen on saying where. 

When Mr Barrow finally comes down, saying something to Andy about 'a lot of fuss over sandwiches', he stops dead when he sees Mr Ellis. Her interest in the newcomer is sealed by the fact that this may be the only time she's seen Mr Barrow speechless. Mr Barrow's eyes widen, mouth slightly open, and she can see the corner of it trying to tick upwards. 'Thought you weren't coming,' Mr Barrow says. 'You said you couldn't do Thursday next.'

'I couldn't,' Ellis says. 'But Miller swapped days off with me, last minute, and although I knew this was one of the dates you weren't free on I thought - better a quick pop round than nothing. I hope I was right.' The charming smile he started off with becomes something more sheepish, and Mr Barrow seems to decide he can't have that.

'Course you were,' he says, and he lets the smile come. Daisy's been rolling her eyes over her shoulder while pouring herself and Mr Barrow some tea, but at this she takes on a softer look, pleased and almost protective. It makes Ada wonder if maybe Mr Barrow hasn't always smiled as much as he does now. (Which isn't a terribly large amount even so, but compared to every other butler in every other house she's seen, he's _cheery_ , although that's a word she thinks he might be ill at if he heard her use it about him.) 

As Mr Barrow's sitting down he notices Ada lurking, and the smile hides itself away - she hopes that that is temporary and it is merely saved like an acorn a jay has cached for later. (That's one of those turns of phrase she wouldn't think to use, except Master George has become more and more interested in nature lately now he's eight and sometimes when he's Downstairs he reads aloud from one of his wildlife books. Well - he reads to Mr Barrow, more specifically, and the man tries not to let anyone save for George himself see just how pleased he is about it, but she isn't fooled.)

'Ada,' Mr Barrow says, not harshly but in a way that indicates he doesn't want to be argued with, 'I think Mrs Patmore wanted you. To check the inventory for next week's puddings.' She doesn't think that's true, or at least she herself wouldn't be asked to do that, but she feels like she's intruding on something sacred, somehow, and Mr Barrow is trying to protect it. So she nods, and goes.

It is the last she sees of Mr Ellis that day, but there is a lightness to Mr Barrow at dinner that had not been there before.

* * *

It is not the last she sees of him. At the staff Christmas party that year, there is a knock at the back door partway through, and as Mr Barrow turns around in confusion Daisy gives him a grin that's nothing short of devious. 'Must be our extra guest,' she says with a knowing look, and when she returns from the door Ellis is with her, hat tucked under his arm. The moment he sees Mr Barrow, a few strands of hair out of place and slightly flushed from dancing, he goes slightly pink, and doesn't even try not to smile. They spend at least the next hour catching up and talking by the fireplace with their drinks, and at one point something Ellis says makes Mr Barrow laugh loudly enough that several of the others look round. Anna looks terribly fondly at the both of them, and even Mr Carson doesn't say anything grumpy (but that may be because Mrs Hughes gives him a Look. Ada knows from experience that you shut up when Mrs Hughes gives you a Look). 

Finally, she gives in to her curiosity and turns to Albert, who is sitting on one of the empty crates the alcohol had been in. 'Who _is_ he?' She whispers, although the two are listening too intently to one another to bother overhearing her. Albert, who had been immersed in his mug, turns to her.

'Who's who?' 

She rolls her eyes. 'Would you like some cocoa to go with that whiskey?' He looks at her warningly and nods to Carson, who he would likely prefer not to overhear that bit. He's the one who's strict about the alcohol - he had asked Mr Barrow if he'd be cross with him for trying some once and the man had just said something about pots and kettles, which made Daisy and Mr Bates laugh. 'And I mean, who's _that_ talking to Mr Barrow.'

'Don't you know?'

She sighs. 'Then I wouldn't be bloody _asking_ you, would I. And nobody's told me who he is so how am i meant to?'

'Fine,' Albert relents. 'He's part of the royal household. He first came here when the King and Queen did, two years ago. I got to serve them, you know,' he adds smugly, even though he's told her that bit a thousand times and she's seen the picture of him in state livery to prove it. 

'Then what's he doing still visiting? You told me nobody got on with the royal staff.'

'Nobody got on with _most_ of them,' he corrects, trying to get cocoa off his upper lip without getting it on his sleeve until she gives up and gives him her clean handkerchief. 'Mr Ellis was different. _Is_ different,' he corrects, watching the pair together. 

'Mr Barrow certainly seems to think so.'

'Well he would, wouldn't he?'

'Would he?'

'Well, they're - like me, aren't they,' he says, with the air of someone who knows they should probably stop talking even as they say it.

'Like what?' 

' _You_ know,' he says near-scornfully.

'Well, I don't,' she says. 'You're not making sense any more, probably that bloody drink.' 

Albert has gone very pale, and she doesn't think that that's the drink. 'Just as well,' he says quietly. 'I oughtn't to have said that. I didn't mean to.' 

She looks at him, worries now. 'Are you alright?'

'Fine, just - forget it.' He gets up off the crate, wobbling like a colt, and blunders away - to his room, she thinks.

Mr Barrow and Mr Ellis have moved to sit down now, slightly unsteady after a couple of drinks, and Mr Barrow's hand is atop Mr Ellis' leg. It's a perfectly ordinary gesture. She thinks that's what makes it as intimate as it is.

She wonders whether she's learned more about them tonight, or about Albert.

* * *

Mr Ellis stays the night, given that he's had a few drinks (along with the rest of them, admittedly) and doesn't want to wreck his brother-in-law's car or, indeed, himself, trying to get back to his parents' house. ( _'Wouldn't want to injure that handsome face_ _,'_ she thinks Mr Barrow murmurs when the two of them are standing on the back stoop while he smokes, but she can't be sure because the party noise drowns a lot of it out. First she wonders how they can hear each other over it - then she thinks that perhaps in each other's company their trouble is with managing to hear anyone _else._ )

In the morning, she gets to see him and Mr Barrow bicker for the first time, and it's unexpectedly delightful. She and Daisy have brought toast in in the racks for latecomers - the two of them and a couple of the others had no need to be up particularly early since the family haven't yet fully risen either, and it is currently just her, them and Master George (who apparently has snuck down because he'd gotten up early to play with his new toys) while Daisy makes some more tea in the kitchen. Mr Barrow and Mr Ellis had come down together, which was odd even if only due to the good timing, and despite having the entire table free are sitting right next to each other - Mr Barrow in his usual seat at the head of the table and Mr Ellis in the one beside it, perpendicular. As Ada tries to write a reply to her grandfather's latest letter, all she can hear is bickering and the occasional crunch. The bickering comes from the two men, who seem to be at odds over the merits of various breakfast items. The crunching comes from Master George who is sat in Mr Barrow's rocking chair, swinging his legs and leafing through a book as he eats a piece of toast.

'I just don't know how you can _eat_ the stuff,' Mr Barrow says, brows raised and face slightly scrunched like a toddler who's just had a spoonful of cough mixture. She tries her best not to giggle.

The source of this turmoil is Ellis' piece of toast, liberally covered all over with marmalade. Mr Ellis sighs good-naturedly, ever-patient. 'I know _you_ have a sweet tooth the size of this county, but not all of us do. It's _nice_.' 

'It's _bitter_ , Richard.' Mr Barrow looks halfway to pouting, seemingly having forgotten that she's there. 'Can't stand it.' His own toast doesn't have anything on it, yet - until Mr Ellis takes it off his plate and, with a separate knife to the one for the marmalade (for fear of the ire of Mr Barrow or Mrs Patmore, she doesn't know) begins to cover it neatly with raspberry jam instead. Ada isn't sure quite what she's witnessing, but the surprised and rather pleased look on Mr Barrow's face is still relatively novelty and she thinks it might go away if he saw her looking, so she pretends not to be. 

'I wonder if hedgehogs like marmalade,' George says thoughtfully, near-forgotten with how quiet he's been. The book he is leafing through is a volume of J.G. Millais' _The Mammals of Great Britain And Ireland_ , which she has to check the spine of three times to make sure she's reading it right - it seems a very grown-up book for an eight year old, and she doubts she would've wanted to contend with such a thick tome at that age. However, he seems to be getting on with it nicely. (Although occasionally looking up to ask what some of the longer words mean. Sometimes Mr Barrow and Mr Ellis answer him at the same time, and she thinks idly that it's almost like they're parents.) 

'Do you know, I'm not really sure,' she ventures - she doesn't know the boy terribly well yet, although he seems very sweet, especially when she's seen him interacting with Mr Barrow. 'I suppose they might do - if they're all like Mrs Tiggy-Winkle then I suppose they must do things like wash clothes and enjoy marmalade. _Do_ you think they're all like her?' She teases.

' _May_ be...' George says generously, which of course means _no - what on earth are you talking about_ , but he's been taught about being polite, evidently. 'I don't think many hedgehogs are like Mrs Tiggy-Winkle, she's special - _isn't_ she, Mr Barrow?' He asks, like they're sharing a joke the rest of them won't understand - and she supposes that they are. It's Mr Barrow who had given George a set of Beatrix Potter books as his Christmas present (in good condition, but old enough editions that she has a feeling they might have been his when he was small - the fond look on Miss Baxter's face at the event had confirmed it) and that one had been his favourite - presumably why he's been reading up about hedgehogs all morning. The only reason he doesn't have that book with him as well is because he now keeps it at his bedside to read before going to sleep - and according to Laura, the nanny, he's read it enough she's surprised the pages aren't worn away. She'd taken the liberty of allowing Mr Barrow to overhear that bit, and he really had looked pleased then - a soft look on his face she hadn't even seen Mr Ellis bring out of him then. He hadn't been sure that Master George would take to the books - if he can read things like he is now then perhaps the worry had been that they were too childish for him - but if he's supposedly been reading them that much then they're clearly a success. (Andy had been in the room at the time, and apparently George had hugged Mr Barrow's legs in thanks.) George seems very keen on the natural history books, of course - a present from Mr Talbot, who either is aware of the boy's advanced reading skills or simply doesn't know what to buy for an eight year old - but something about Mr Barrow's gift seems to carry more meaning to him. She wonders if it's always been like that, and then knows on instinct that it has.

Mr Barrow breaks off from he and Mr Ellis' hushed back-and-forth and smiles, soft again. 'I think you're exactly right, Master George.' 

'Perhaps,' Mr Ellis suggests, 'hedgehogs prefer jam to marmalade.'

'Oh,' George brightens. 'Is Mr Barrow like a hedgehog, then?' 

Mr Ellis grins. 'I'd say so. He's got prickles, as well-oi!' He rubs his shin in mock-offense where he has presumably been kicked under the table.

George has managed to get out of the rocking chair by himself, hauling the heavy book with him, and comes over to the table again now that he's finished with his toast. He puts the book on the table in front of Mr Ellis so he can see, and once the man has reached out to hold it open at the right page for him, George puts his hands on Mr Ellis' arm as leverage to lean over the page. 'Have you ever seen a hedgehog, Mr Ellis?' He asks, and it takes the man a moment to respond - Ada can see he's pleased but surprised by George's familiarity.

'I have, actually. Used to be one in the garden, when I was about your age, and if you put some dog food outside on a saucer it'd come all the way up to the back step to eat it. My dad used to stay up with me sometimes to watch out for it, although mum told us off for being up so late.' He smiles at the memory, fond. George looks awed.

'Can _we_ do that, Mr Barrow? I'm sure Donk might let us use some of Tiaa's food.' Mr Barrow chuckles. 

'We'll see, eh? We'd have to ask your mum first.' He seems to be resolutely not acknowledging that he is George's chosen companion for an activity Mr Ellis said he'd always done with his father, save for looking slightly more vulnerable - a gentling to the sharp angle of his eyebrows, perhaps. They hear nanny calling for George, then, sounding flustered - so he _had_ snuck out of bed. Mr Ellis helps him pull the book down off the table, and with some difficulty George tucks it under his arm. Before he runs off, though, Mr Barrow gently taps his shoulder to stop him and uses a handkerchief to remove the toast crumbs from around his mouth before George can scrub them off with his sleeve. He waves goodbye to them at the door.

'See you soon, Mr Ellis!' Although it's said with the certainty that children have about everything by default, Ada knows that in this instance he is right.

'The illustrations in that book looked familiar,' Thomas says musingly. 

'That's because they're by Thorburn,' Mr Ellis says. 'The bloke who did the plates in those bird books you got me - for my last birthday.' 

'Oh,' Mr Barrow says, and she's not sure if Mr Ellis is the happier for remembering it or Mr Barrow for Mr Ellis having remembered. 'That's right.'

And for now, almost everything is.

* * *

She begins to pay attention to how Mr Barrow smiles when he gets letters some mornings, always the same handwriting, the stamp in the corner perfectly aligned. It's a funny thing to notice, but she does. 

Albert smiles too when he brings the letters in, but she's noticed that seems to have more to do with the new young postie (a lad about their age, apprenticed to the old one) who delivers them. Nevertheless, he and Mr Barrow exchange a glance when the letters are handed over, and and she thinks she might be beginning to understand what he'd meant that night. She hasn't forgotten it, of course, not with Mr Barrow right there going through his many peculiar expressions every time Mr Ellis is mentioned, but she isn't going to say anything - to Albert or to anyone. She remembers his face, still, pale and regretful, and knows that just now it would be the most unkind thing to do.

(They haven't spoken much since.)

Albert never waits for the postie to knock at the back door, always meets him further away, at the gate, and she thinks it might be for the same reason that Mr Barrow doesn't open his letters at the table.

* * *

One evening, she finishes up early in her eagerness to get some time to herself, and that's how she hears the conversation. Mr Barrow's on the phone, and she can hear laughing. 

'Yeah, yeah, I know. I wish you could've seen it, Dick, it was the funniest thing. Anyway, how's your sister? I remember you saying she was busy sorting out stuff for the oldest one's birthday. Oh, good. Not long, then. I don't suppose you'd pass on a card, for me, if I sent it on? You're a star. Yes, I know I don't use soppy turns of phrase, shut your mouth.' There it is again - the affection in his eyes when he looks at Mr Ellis is in his voice now.

That's all Ada hears for now, though, because Daisy pokes her head out of the kitchen doorway into the corridor and sees her, and her mouth sets in disapproval before she beckons her over.

'What d'you think you're doing?' She whisper-hisses. 'You shouldn't be listening in when he's on the phone.'

'Sorry, I - I was walking past and I just heard - well - never mind. I thought he was just placing an order or something.'

Daisy sighs. 'Well, he isn't, so you can come and help me with the pastry in the meantime instead of eavesdropping.' 

She feels ashamed at that, and it curls in her gut. She hasn't exactly acted trustworthy - no wonder Albert's been worried, been avoiding her. The reminder of that further muddies the worry already there, and as she helps cut out the shapes for the tarts Ada tries to hold back a sniffle, and then another. They won't go away, and she hates it when Daisy's upset with her - she's been like an older sister since Ada started - and she's done something wrong along the way, she's sure, because she shouldn't be feeling like this. 

She doesn't realise her face is damp until Daisy looks up from her own work and looks mildly horrified. 'Oh, God, what's the matter? I didn't mean to be as harsh as all that, come here,' she babbles as she ushers her to sit down. 'I am sorry, really, I didn't want to upset you, it's just - well, nevermind what it's just.'

She shakes her head. 'I feel so stupid, it's stupid, it's- it's not even just that.'

Daisy gives her a hanky - she doesn't have hers, because she gave it to Albert at the Christmas party and he's avoided her too much to give it back, and that makes her start crying again - and puts her hands on Ada's shoulders. 'What is it, then? It can't be that stupid if you're so upset over it, that's what Mr Barrow always says, isn't it?' 

She tries a weak smile, and isn't sure if it works, but then nods. 'It's- well, it's Albert,' she starts.

Daisy nods. 'I thought it might be. You haven't been talking.'

She shakes her head. 'I - I can't tell you everything, because it's not really my business and not mine to tell besides, it's just- we were talking about something, and he said something he didn't mean to say, and he's been avoiding me ever since. And I don't know what I've done, or how to get him to talk to me again.' 

Daisy looks thoughtful. 'That sounds hard,' she admits. 'I s'pose you could find a way of proving you're not going to tell anyone what he said, but I don't know how you'd do that...But, look, I'm sure he won't avoid you forever. Just - what he told you - you don't have to tell me what he said, but did he tell you he'd done something wrong? Something we should know about, anything like that?' 

She shakes her head again. 'No, no, he hasn't done anything wrong. It's nothing like that.' 

Daisy seems satisfied with that. 'That's all I need to know, then. Maybe just - try to reach out to him again. If he didn't mean to tell you then he's worried you'll tell someone else, worried you'll be horrible about it or both. Best way to show him you won't do either of those things is to do the opposite.' Ada nods. That makes sense. 

They finish preparing the tarts and then she's free to do as she likes again for the evening. She looks around to see if she can find Albert but he doesn't seem to want to be found, so in the end she leaves it and goes into the servant's hall with a magazine to read. Daisy had once told her that she's far luckier under Mr Barrow's reign than she would've been under Mr Carson's - gossip magazines, fashion, anything of the sort probably would've been heavily criticised if he'd seen someone reading it. 'A bit of a purist,' Daisy had called him. 'Not the type to have the wireless on at teatime.' As for Mr Barrow, however, he can't seem to care less about their reading material as long as it's not something that would cause awkward questions if left on the table for the Bates' son to come across.

If he and Albert are the same in the way she thinks they are, then she wishes that neither of them had to worry about what people might think of them. She can't imagine thinking badly of the man who governs the staff so fairly, who lets the wireless play at dinnertime and always has a friendly word for Daisy and gives the house's children heirlooms for Christmas and agrees to stay up looking for hedgehogs with them as though they were his very own children. Nor can she fathom betraying her best friend, who comes to find her with a cup of tea if she's stuck doing a tedious job and tells the best jokes and goes pink whenever anyone mentions how much taller he's grown since he first started here a few years ago. 

And that's why she has to make things right, somehow.

* * *

Things come to a head, of sorts, eventually. Evidently Albert has told Mr Barrow about his drunken slip-up, because she is called into his office a bit before lunchtime in-between her duties. 

'I'm sure you can probably guess what this is about,' he says, almost ruefully amused, not beating around the bush. 

She nods, tentative. 'Is it about me and Albert not talking?' 

He inclines his head in turn. 'He came and told me everything, the other day. In a right state he was, too - feels badly about the whole thing.' He seems to realise this makes things worse, and hurries onward. 'I'm aware he told you something - of a personal nature - that he didn't mean to, at Christmas?' She nods again, because there's nothing else to do. 'Have you told anyone else what he told you?' 

She shakes her head, this time. 'Of course not, he was so upset, I'd never-' 

'Alright,' he says, still skeptical but seeming somewhat impressed with her now. 'That's something, then. Am I to assume, then, that you don't- you don't think badly of him, for what he told you?' 

'No,' she says firmly, 'I don't.' 

He blinks, once, twice. 'Well - that's good, then. Maybe,' he ventures, 'you should tell _him_ that part.' 

She feels a sting of annoyance at that, feeling like she's being accused of not making the effort. 'I've been _trying_ to,' she says pointedly, 'for a _week._ If you could tell him to stop bloody disappearing every time I walk into the room then I might actually get a word in edgeways.' She stops short, then, realising that this is maybe not the best way to speak to her boss, but it's done now and so she doesn't retreat. His expression is inscrutable - and then she notices the subtle twinkle in his eye, and realises he's amused.

'Fair enough,' he says. 'I don't think I'll need to pass anything on, though.' 

'Why-'

There is a knock at the door. 'Come in,' Mr Barrow calls. It's Albert, who stops short. 'It's alright,' Mr Barrow coaxes. 'I was right. Shut the door, then, come on.' He's using the same gentle tone he takes with George, and it isn't patronising because it isn't even when he's using it on someone more than half Albert's age. It seems to work, because he does come in and shut the door, although he shuffles from foot to foot and doesn't seem to want to sit. Mr Barrow doesn't ask him to, likely for that reason. 

'I've spoken with Ada,' he says. 'I think the only problem was a bit of a lapse in communication, hm?' 

Albert looks at her. ' _Was_ it?' 

'In all fairness,' she sighs, 'as much as I'm fine with what you told me and don't think badly of you for it at all, I haven't exactly been able to _tell_ you that when you haven't even come near me in a week, have I?' 

He looks somewhat sheepish at that. 'Fair enough,' he admits, but there's a hint of a smile. 'So - are we alright, then?' 

She softens, at that. 'We always were. I promise you.' 

He sags in relief. 

'Now that's settled,' Mr Barrow says, 'I'm assuming that we can trust you to keep discretion in. Other matters.' Based on the fact he himself has now reddened slightly she knows what other matters he is referring to, and nods, smiling. 

'Of course.'

'Alright then, you pair can clear off,' he says, offering them each a sweet from the stash apparently in his desk (she has a feeling that is a tradition not formerly upheld by Mr Carson) before standing up with a small stretch before opening the door for them. They go to lunch, and when Albert tells a joke she snorts, which makes soup come out of her nose.

(Thankfully this goes unnoticed, only because Mr Bates leans forward over his bowl enough that Mrs Hughes doesn't see. Mr Barrow definitely notices, but the only sign is the upwards tick of the corner of his mouth. Miss Baxter asks him, softly amused, what he's laughing at, but he tells her to pay it no mind. They remind her of Daisy and herself sometimes - he seems like Miss Baxter's younger brother, although sometimes he seems old enough she can't think of him as the younger anything.)

She's missed this, and hadn't realised entirely how much until she's got it back.

* * *

In April Mr Barrow goes away for the weekend, and at breakfast beforehand she hears him telling Miss Baxter that it's Mr Ellis' birthday. Daisy asks him if he'll tell him happy birthday from all the rest of them, and he looks as pleased as ever she's seen him.

He comes back smiling more than usual, and with postcards from London Zoo for Master George. 

* * *

One day in June, Mr Barrow is much quieter than usual. She doesn't know why, but it is a pattern - he'd been the same last year, she remembers, because although he's usually always patient (at least with the younger staff) he'd snapped a bit when she made a racket bringing some dishes through the servants' hall. It had marked the day out to her, and now she doesn't forget it. Miss Baxter always seems to stick close by his side on this day, as well - not fussing too much, just a quiet, constant presence. He seems to appreciate it. 

This time, one of Mr Ellis' flying visits coincides with the day, and she knows it isn't quite the coincidence he makes it out to be. Although whether she knows that from Mr Barrow's disbelieving look, Mr Ellis' tender one across the table or the fact she sees Mr Barrow wrapped in a hug from Mr Ellis before he leaves and whispering 'I'll be alright,' is anyone's guess. 

Albert probably knows what the day is about, but she feels she's intruded enough into Mr Barrow's life just by knowing what she knows already - sometimes even when one can find something out it's their responsibility not to ask. But she's glad he's got people there for him throughout it.

* * *

In August it's Mr Barrow's own birthday - she knows this, as do the rest of them, but he apparently doesn't know that they know. Mrs Patmore and Daisy make a cake for him in secret, claiming it's for upstairs if questioned, while she and Albert are in charge of decorating. Andy is meant to be in charge of keeping Mr Barrow out of the way, but he apparently cracks under pressure - or sustained eye contact- so Mr Bates is appointed in the role instead, claiming to need help with something in the boot room. It's just as well, because it turns out that without Andy free to help neither of them is tall enough to get the banners quite where they want them. 

She isn't sure what Miss Baxter's up to for a while, until she catches her on the phone making arrangements, and knows who to expect on the day when there's a knock at the back door. 

'Hello again,' Mr Ellis says, sheepish. 

She smiles. 'At least I know who and what you're after, this time,' she tells him, and leads him through to the servant's hall where everyone else is waiting. They surprise Mr Barrow when he comes down after serving luncheon, and although he sighs at Miss Baxter and Mrs Hughes - the two who had first conspired as they were the two who knew his birthday - for giving the date away, everyone knows it's entirely an act - especially when Nanny brings Master George down for a bit, who presents Mr Barrow with his own offering, a slightly crumpled, cone-shaped party hat with little stars drawn on it. He somehow clambers onto the butler's lap to put it on for him, and then stays in a chair next to him while he finishes the piece of cake he's been allowed.

'-no need for all this fuss,' she catches Mr Barrow protesting weakly.

'Not every year you're forty, love,' Mr Ellis says softly, chiding. 'We can make as much fuss of you as we like.' Nobody disagrees, nor do they remark on the nickname, which is perhaps when she realises that before Albert's slip-up she had been the only one who hadn't known about the two of them. To know that an entire household of staff, most of them already present and not originally employed by Mr Barrow, know and accept, or rather embrace this, is one of the most wonderful things she's ever seen.

'So _that's_ how old you are,' Albert says. 'Looks like I overestimated a bit - you win the bet, Ada.' 

It's the first time she's been around long enough to hear Mr Ellis laugh, and she thinks the fondness on Mr Barrow's face for it is very much justified. 

* * *

Like a heartbeat or a journey in a very fast car, 1931 is suddenly ending. It is their New Year's party that Mr Ellis turns up to this time, and as she and Albert observe from their perch, sitting on the low part of the coal-shed roof with their drinks (sneakily handed from Mr Barrow to Mr Bates to Andy and to them without Carson looking, and which are definitely not cocoa this time), it isn't long before he and Mr Barrow come outside into the courtyard for a smoke break. They talk for a bit, Mr Barrow laughing at something Mr Ellis has said, and she wonders what his Christmas present to Mr Barrow is, considering he couldn't make it up here at Christmas itself this time. 

It is, as they all find out when Mr Barrow turns around to drop his cigarette scrub and grind it with his heel into the gravel and Mr Ellis bends down on one knee, a ring. 

_'...know it's not official,'_ She hears on the wind, _'But I think I've made it clear by now that - if I could, then I would. So I'm asking anyway.'_ The two of them and Mr Ellis wait with bated breath for the reply - which, as it turns out, is simply Mr Barrow nodding with what look like tears running down his face before Mr Ellis stands up and hugs him. Indoors they can hear everyone else counting down to midnight, and when they reach zero the pair seal the proposal with a kiss. She could do with something to blow her nose, and this time Albert lends her his handkerchief. 

Eventually the they notice the two of them on the roof, Mr Barrow raising his eyebrows, to which Albert calls a ' _Congratulations, Mr Barrow!_ ' Or at least, that's what it's supposed to sound like, and probably would sober. From that it would seem the couple are fully aware that she and Albert are not going to get off the roof with much ease, and come over to help. 

After working in three different households before this one, she thinks she's found her place.


End file.
